Capo 3rd fret G D Willie Seton was a lad, his age was just sixteen, D7 G Golden curls hung down his neck, the fairest ever seen.
His true love was the prettiest thing in the countryside,
And after Willie courted her, she swore to be his bride.
He had no gold to give her dad, no gold to buy them land,
And in his haste to wed his love, he joined an outlaw band.
They ravaged all the countryside, their fortunes for to gain,
Until one cold and windy day they robbed the Frisco train.
The train guard lost his life that day, but just before he died,
He fired a deadly pistol ball in Willie Seton's side.
His comrades they deserted him and left him there alone,
And holding tightly to his side, he started out for home.
He had not traveled many a mile until the storm came on,
And Willie Seton found a log to set himself upon.
He leaned his back against the tree and held onto his side,
And in that cold and snowy wood, young Willie Seton died.
He was sixteen when he loved, sixteen when he cried,
Sixteen when he robbed a train, and sixteen, when he died.
(Words and music by Tom Paxton, 1962)
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